I’m the newest member of a group focused on alienation and estrangement.

I’ve only attended two sessions, but I’m already on the road to healing, mainly because I no longer feel alone in the isolation of rejection.

I’ve already formed powerful connections with some in the group who, like me, are powerlessly disconnected, if that makes any sense.

By definition, reconciliation is the process of restoring harmony. Its primary purpose is to resolve conflicts, verify accuracy, and align differing data sets or views. It requires honest communication among the connected parties involved.

But what if there is no resolution?

What if restoration is an illusion?

What if reconciliation is irreconcilable?

At 73, I’ve learned that life is mostly about love and pain.

And connections.

And each connection is crucial to connecting all the dots.

Or not.

I liken estrangement to being unable to complete the popular children’s puzzle, “Connect the Dots.”

The incomplete result is that I’m unable to reveal or understand the hidden picture—deeper and more complex than any child’s puzzle.

Reconciliation may never happen for me, but now I know it’s not a measure of my worth. It took my daughter era, my mother era, and my sisterhood era to figure that out. That’s a whole lot of eras.

Strength, resolve, acceptance, and personal healing might have to be enough for me to live out the rest of my years with some semblance of normality. Even though I fully recognize that there is nothing normal about alienation or estrangement.

Or that reconciliation might mean accepting that I will forever be in a state of ongoing distress to some degree.

That’s probably all I’m ever going to get.

But then I think about those beloved and precious dots out there. Those connections who may or may not know they’re part of my puzzle.

And then I’m right back where I started—on a road with no end.

Some say that hope is necessary to survive.

And I agree.

Some say the fear of missing out is the most painful part of estrangement.

But I disagree.

I don’t feel like I’m missing out.

I feel like a huge chunk of me is missing.

And I’m bleeding out.